Side Effects May Include
by CthuLuna
Summary: Eamon wakes from his coma to find Ferelden plunged into chaos. The poison has cleared, but his body continues to weaken. Eamon snaps, and with Jowan's help, he comes up with a weapon that is instrumental in the progression of the civil war. What happened to the mild-mannered, politically savvy Arl everyone thought they knew? AU inspired by Breaking Bad.
1. Side Effects May Include

Side Effects May Include…

AN: This was originally going to be part of my upcoming series, Hollywood in Thedas, but that will be comprised of one-shots, and this has too much potential to dumb down to under 5k words. Rated M for safety in case my mind comes up with adult situations, which it usually does.

* * *

Eamon's eyes opened for the first time in weeks. The room around him was blurry. His body felt frail, like every bone was about to shatter simply from the weight of his skin. The smell of sickness invaded his nostrils, the only reaction he had the energy to do was the twitching at the corners of his mouth where a full grimace would normally have been.

Though he had no desire to speak, he felt compelled to acknowledge the presence of visitors in his chambers – Teagan and Isolde were present, as well as two others, one he vaguely recognized, the other he did not at all. His voice failed him, all he could do was moan. Blood flowed into his cheeks when he realized when he parted his lips he began to drool, Isolde wiped at the corner of his mouth with a cloth. His eyes rolled to look at her face, tears filled her eyes but he knew not why. He didn't know why he was there feeling that way in the first place. The second vocalization was stronger than the first, though wordless, it was an obvious question. Teagan spoke from where he stood behind Isolde, far enough away for Eamon not to feel crowded.

"Be calm, brother," was all he said, but it did nothing to calm him. He felt so confused and poorly. Depression was quickly starting to settle in his chest as the seconds ticked by.

"Teagan, what are you doing here?" His words came out in a quiet whimper.

"You have been ill, brother. Poisoned by the court mage, who was hired by Teyrn Loghain."

"Loghain," Eamon repeated. He retained enough of his mind not to be surprised by that. "It was only a matter of time. But he failed, or am I still dying?" As he spoke more, his voice grew weaker. It was barely above a wheeze after a full sentence.

Isolde was the one who answered. "You are better now, my husband. The Grey Warden and Alistair found the Urn of Sacred Ashes and cured you when no healer could!" She spoke quietly, but her joy was unmistakable. If there was any relief he felt, it was that her tears were not of sadness. He was cured. What he felt was the weakness from prolonged illness. Still, no real comfort came. Only sleep overtook him, he could not stay conscious long enough for a full explanation. He received all news since his coma in bits and pieces over the course of several days.

Cailain is dead. There truly is a blight. Several armies were lost at Ostagar. All but two Grey Wardens are dead, they are Alistair and Solona Amell. Loghain is the Regent. A civil war has started.

Maker help us all.

* * *

With each day that passed, Eamon noticed his anger increased. Loghain showed how much of a ruthless bastard he was and Eamon was sick of feeling powerless against it. The wheels in his head had been turning. He had yet to deal with Jowan, and if all went as planned the mage wouldn't be a problem, but a solution. After two weeks, he felt well enough to venture down to the dungeons to speak to Jowan himself. He told no one he was going to speak to the mage, the guards would have wanted to escort him, and possibly even Teagan. He had to do this alone.

He forgot the trip there, his beard framed a deep frown at the loss of such a recent memory, but he was standing near the cell Jowan was in. The mage was sleeping on the stone floor. He was thinner than he was before, the slightly pudgy belly was gone and he was wiry. Eamon wrinkled his nose at the smell when he neared the cell, he kicked the metal bars with his boot. The racket was enough to have the pitiful mage jump up with a gasp, then he choked from inhaling saliva. Jowan coughed into his dirty hand as he stood.

"Hello, Jowan."

The mage respectfully avoided eye contact, his face sagged with sadness. "Hello, Arl Eamon. I am glad you are alive, I have realized my mistake and accept any punishment you have for me." Jowan still wore the blue robes from his time at the Circle. By all accounts he heard, the young man was glad to be free so it was curious he still wore the garb. Most mages dreamt of freedom, some even killed to keep it. Such lengths weren't necessary in this case, but something akin to that desperation would certainly help.

Eamon decided not to address the punishment at this point. It all depended on how Jowan would react to his proposal. "What poison did you use?"

"M-my lord?" Those sad eyes were replaced with confused ones, Jowan looked at Eamon's face, trying to read clarification from his features.

"Did you make it? I know some mages are quite skilled in alchemy. You can pick up the effects of herbs and roots better than anyone else can." Eamon felt calm, which was surprising even to himself. His hands were clasped behind his back as he conversed with the assassin.

"Yes, my lord. I was better at alchemy than my spells when I was at the tower." Jowan's gaze returned to the floor, he was trying to scrape off some of the muck from his shoes.

"How much could you make say, if it was to be used in a war. You are aware of the civil war caused by the man that hired you to kill me, don't you, Jowan?"

"No my lord, I was not aware. If I knew what he was like I would never have agreed to- to…"

Eamon neared the bars that separated him from the prisoner. "I will let you go, but you must remain in Redcliffe so you can return to the spot I deem secure enough to meet and you will continue to create this poison." Jowan was shocked once again, all he had heard about Arl Eamon was entirely different from what he was seeing. Even in the weeks he spent at the castle while he summoned the guts to poison the man, he did not see this side of him. The mage gaped at the nobleman, who was completely sure and dangerously still.

Eamon Guerrin was not an imposing man, but Jowan knew his mercy was dangling by a thread, and only because he could get some use out of him. "How? My lord, I don't understand."

"What part of 'we are at war and you need to redeem yourself' do you not understand? What part of 'if you refuse me I will have you sent to the tower, best case scenario and worst case scenario I will let my guards run you through right here' is too difficult to comprehend? Hmm?" The Arl's eyes were narrowed. The rage that had built reached its peak and spilled forth, leaving the mage close to retreating to the far corner of his cell.

"The poison I would make is for the war, and you would not give me to the templars or guards?" Jowan watched the Arl's face, disrespectful or no. He didn't want to make another mistake, get disappointed by another empty promise. What Eamon was asking felt wrong, but he would be able to live, be free to some extent. There would be no pressure about magic other than hiding it, alchemy didn't require spells.

"You will remain in Redcliffe, get rid of those damned robes. Dress like a priest if you are so attached to such clothing. I don't care what you do so long as you are where I say you should be when I say you should be there."

"I will do as you say." His own voice sounded foreign, like it should belong to a tranquil. At the thought, he was even more sure that this was all he could do. If he was sent back to the tower, either he would be killed outright or made tranquil and he couldn't bear the thought of that fate.

"Rest assured, Jowan. This will work. You may even get a fair amount of gold from it. Wealth is very important around here, I don't imagine you were able to get your hands on much in your short time as a free man." Eamon had no idea how right he was. Gold! It was a luxury Jowan never thought he would be able to get acquainted with. He wouldn't know what to do with it, at first. It wasn't the idea of being rich that appealed to him, but the thought of having money like a normal man, not one that had to rent everything like in the tower.

Eamon produced a key from his back pocket, unlocked the cell. He also had a ring in his hand that he handed to Jowan. "When you go down that tunnel, you will eventually see a ladder. It leads to the windmill in Redcliffe. This signet ring is what unlocks the trap door. It should be locked at all times that you are not passing through it. If you lose this ring, our deal is forfeit and your punishment will come. If you tell anyone, if you use my name, tell them that you are a mage, or speak of any other damned information about what has transpired these past months, you are _done_." Eamon didn't tell him the ring once belonged to Rowan. He could not yet trust the boy not to run as soon as he saw sunlight, if so he would probably sell the ring and be set for several months.

"I won't tell a soul." The threat was clearly effective, the boy's voice was hardly above a whisper.

"It is up to you to get the supplies you need for the first batch and the funds to get them. You have one week. There are alcoves along this tunnel you are about to leave in. If you are not in one of them with enough product for me to show to my agents, pray to the Maker that I don't call a guard to flay your hide." Jowan swallowed, nodded at him.

"Are you sure about this, my lord? Such a poison is, well I don't need to explain, you suffered its effects and you didn't take the whole dose. How will this even work?"

"Don't worry about any of that, Jowan. It is not your department and this will work. It has to, there is no reason for it not to. I know the politics, and you know the alchemy." Eamon backed away from the mage, straightening his tunic. He outstretched his left arm, gesturing to the door leading out. "One week, Jowan. I want two full flasks in one week."

Jowan shuffled out of the dungeons in disbelief, staring at the ring he grasped tightly in both hands. Behind him, smooth steps padded away, back to the castle. He knew he was still doing wrong for the sake of freedom. The walk through the tunnel under the lake was a long and shameful one.


	2. With Friends Like These

SEMI, Ch 2 – With Friends Like These

* * *

Eamon began to acquaint himself with the Grey Warden and some of her companions. The Warden herself was a mage, Solona Amell. The young woman revealed connection with Kirkwall nobility, though she never met them. She was from Lothering, where her aunt and cousins still lived. Their father was an apostate as was one of her cousins, the younger of two twins. Her connections were interesting, but not useful.

Youth and beauty were equals in the mage, Eamon noticed Alistair's interest in her, an interest beyond his admiration for her leadership. It was good to see Alistair again, as well. The last several times he saw him, the lad resentfully ignored him in the chantry. It pained him to let the boy go, he was like an only son since Connor was not born until many years later. All bitterness was gone, replaced by a keen hatred for Loghain and grief for his fallen comrades, including his half-brother. It was a feeling they shared, Eamon was alarmed that the ice queen Anora remained on the throne, and her even more ruthless father was the regent. The Theirin line was precious, to himself and any true Ferelden. It had to return to the throne, but Eamon wasn't sure how to begin to overthrow the Mac Tir tyranny. Not yet.

He also connected with the older mage; Wynne had a dislike for Loghain before Ostagar. Eamon noticed she was a sharp, perceptive woman and a skilled healer, a definite ally. The opposite could be said of the witch that traveled with them. She was young, as young as Solona, but malice seeped from her every pore. Perhaps she was some long lost child of Loghain's, she shared the hair black as night and the cold, hard heart that was a Mac Tir trademark. He would expect someone like her to be the general's daughter before the fair queen.

The longer he observed the witch, the higher his goosebumps rose. He barely suppressed a shudder when he turned away from her, he didn't dare converse with her, or the mountain-like qunari that stood against the wall. Their people were savages, seemingly demonic with their red eyes. The oversized brute was likely to crush his head if they spoke, so Eamon passed him as well.

The most interesting people to him were the bard and the assassin. The latter was an Antivan elf, more likely to be found in a back alley with some harlot than in a castle. His wide, full lips and heavy lidded eyes made his entire persona reek of sleaziness. He was another of Loghain's incompetent assassins, it gave Eamon a spiteful satisfaction that the general seemed to be prone to ineffectual schemes when it came to anything not mapped out for him or on a battlefield. The seedy elf was still as arrogant as ever.

The bard, on the other hand, impressed Eamon. She had all the fair, enchanting, and graceful qualities of an Orlesian woman, much like Isolde before her beauty started to fade with age. He heard she was Ferelden born, but raised in Orlais so she followed their traditions and had little in common with a Ferelden. The bard was just as deadly as she was elegant, he heard - a most skilled archer and equally dangerous with just two daggers. The lovely red haired woman was Orlesian mystique personified. It was she who Eamon finally approached.

"Greetings, Arl Eamon. It is good to see that you are well and strong again. The Maker must favor you highly." Leliana had a noticeable lisp that he found it attractive. Her accent was less muddled than Isolde's was becoming.

"Thank you, my dear, it is the Maker's will and the talent of yourself and your fellows that saved my life. Though relieved, I cannot help but be concerned about this war and what other measures Loghain will take to quell the opposition."

"What is it that set the two of you against each other, your Grace?"

"Loghain thinks I will betray this country, that I am secretly allied with Orlais because of my wife." While he was a traditional Ferelden, he did admire Orlais. The occupation was a thing of the past, as Cailan believed and Fereldens could learn much from their sophisticated neighboring country.

"He seems to be a very cautious man, paranoid even. An allegiance with Orlais would be beneficial in this time of crisis." Perceptive and beautiful, it seemed.

"I most certainly agree. Such failure with these hired assassins is highly uncharacteristic of him. He is normally most efficient. He was almost successful with me, however. The poison Jowan created was effective."

"I am not familiar with the type of poison he used."

"It was a creation of his, I am led to believe. It would probably be quite useful if used against darkspawn. I know maiming them is not the goal, that they should be executed swiftly, but the poison, in its proper dose, acts as a paralyzing agent." Leliana was obviously calculating as he spoke.

"So if the poison coated arrows, even shots that did not strike a vital point would be deadly. That would certainly help us. I understand we are going to the Deep Roads sometime soon. Perhaps we should acquire some."

"Perhaps we should, but for now let us think no more if it."

"Are you sure, your Grace? I am sure we could track some down." There were numerous reasons behind her offer, to be sure. She would get her hands on it in due time. He was pleased she responded so well to the idea in the first place.

"Oh, that's quite alright. I can handle it, for now it would please me if you did not discuss this with anyone else. This idea only struck me minutes ago."

They parted, Eamon was feeling more optimistic now that he had potential clients. He would eventually have to degrade himself by talking to the Antivan Crow. Hopefully he had more competent master assassins nearby.


End file.
